


A Penetration Artist

by Deep Shit (infinitebutthole)



Category: KAFKA Franz - Works
Genre: Anus, Gen, Object Penetration, Other, goatse - Freeform, hunger artist, sodomy by rubber eggplant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitebutthole/pseuds/Deep%20Shit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a re-imagining of Franz Kafka’s <a href="https://records.viu.ca/~Johnstoi/kafka/hungerartist.htm">A Hunger Artist</a> inspired (loosely) by <a href="http://gawker.com/finding-goatse-the-mystery-man-behind-the-most-disturb-5899787">the life of Goatse</a>, a self-described ‘extreme penetration artist’ (AKA guy with extremely flexible anus) who became, unwillingly, one of the early internet’s most well-known shock memes. We have done our best to preserve the overall themes and style of Kafka’s work, though understandably some things may have been lost in translation between “fasting” and “extreme anal penetration.” We encourage you to familiarize yourself with those two pieces of background information, or risk missing a lot of the jokes (then again, they’re mostly about a man shoving things up his ass so maybe you’ll be fine).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Penetration Artist

In the last years interest in penetration artists has declined considerably. Whereas in earlier days, pictures on the web of wrinkled, wizened men happily slipping didgeridoos into their asses could actually shock people, such links now seem unimpressive and trite. Those were different times. Back then the penetration artist captured the attention of all of the fledgling web. From frame to frame while the massive dildo entered more deeply, views increased. Everyone wanted to troll link to the penetration artist at least once a day. During some days the artist would neglect his day job and penetrate himself all day in front of his small webcam and desktop. And there were even some images taken at night, their impact heightened by the light of his monitor. On fine days he would move out into the open air, and then the penetration artist put on a display particularly for naturalists. While for grown-ups the penetration artist was often merely a joke, something they sent to their co-workers because it was fashionable, the adolescents looked on amazed, their mouths open, hands to their faces and crying in confusion, as he stood there bent severely over—spurning a chair—naked, looking pale, replying to messages, even using his hands to spread his anus to let people see how flexible he was, but then completely sinking the rubber eggplant back into himself, so that he paid no attention to anything, not even to what was so important to him, the flow of views and links to his images, which were the single furnishing of his site, but merely looking out in front of him with his eyes almost shut and now and then squeezing from a tiny bottle of lubricant to moisten his asshole.

 Apart from the changing groups of fappers there were also constant observers from the general internet—strangely enough they were usually straight guys from message boards—who took up the task of analyzing the penetration artist's site to try and prove that the images of his robust, beartrap-like asshole had been photoshopped. "There's no way it can open that wide. I’ve seen newborns smaller than that thing," the naysayers would naysay. It was, however, merely a distraction, introduced to seed controversy amongst the masses, but those who understood knew well enough that the penetration artist would never, under any circumstances, have enhanced his images in the slightest, not even if compelled by force. The honour of his art forbade it. Naturally, none of the skeptics understood that. Sometimes there were nightly groups of neckbeards who carried out their vigil in their parents basements, conferring together in obscure forums and putting all their attention into analyzing each image at 400% magnification. “No homo,” they periodically whispered to themselves. Nothing was more excruciating to the penetration artist than such watchers. They depressed him. They made his web presence terribly difficult. Sometimes he overcame his weakness and uploaded gifs of his anus instead, with as high resolution as he could make them, to show people how unjust their suspicions about him were. But that was little help. For then they just wondered among themselves about his skill at being able to manipulate gifs with such realistic quality. He much preferred the observers who, leaning in closely to their monitors, demanded larger objects and clearer shots. These requests didn’t bother him in the slightest. With such observers, he was very happily prepared to spend the entire night without sleeping. He was ready to joke with them, to recount the large things he had placed in his anus and then, in turn, to listen to the much smaller things they had placed in theirs—doing everything just to keep them awake, so that he could keep popping whole butternut squash up his glory hole and show that he was being penetrated as none of them could be.

However, doubts of the true stretchiness of his asshole were inevitable. But this was not why the penetration artist was discontent. For he also penetrated so deeply out of dissatisfaction with himself, because he alone knew something that even initiates didn’t know—how easy it was to penetrate themselves. It was the easiest thing in the world. About this he did not remain silent, but people did not believe him. At best they thought he was being modest. Most of them, however, believed he was a publicity seeker or a fake, for whom penetration was easy because he understood how to make it easy, and then still had the nerve to half admit it. He had to accept all that. Over the years he had become accustomed to it. But this dissatisfaction kept gnawing at his bowels all the time and yet—this one had to say to his credit—never had he stopped increasing the length and girth of his dildoes of his own free will during any photoshoot. The webmaster had set an informal maximum size limit to that of a short chinese yam — he would never under his supervision attempt to the penetrate beyond that point, not even to his most devoted fans. And, in fact, he had a good reason. Experience had shown that up to a certain size - large cucumber, perhaps a tennis ball - one could increasingly whip up the forum’s interest by gradually selecting larger items, but that then with even bigger items the public began to believe less and less in the reality of his images and turned away — one could demonstrate a significant decline in popularity. So then when the magical girth was reached, an enthusiastic audience rushed to the website, confused teenagers began masturbating, the images were sent to horrified friends and coworkers through troll-linked emails, and the webmaster arrived and sought to convince the penetration artist to bayonet himself with smaller objects, so that the size limit could be maintained. And at this moment the penetration artist always fought back. Of course, he still freely bent back over and re-inserted his old lubricated beer bottles, but he did not want to continue at this level. Why stop at a pint glass? He could have kept inserting larger objects, for a nearly unlimited girth, he was sure. Why stop at a cue ball, when he was in his best form, indeed, not yet even in his best penetrating form? Why did people want to rob him of the fame of being penetrated with, say, an adult badger - not just so that he could become the greatest penetration artist of all time, which, in fact, he probably was already, but also so that he could surpass himself in some unimaginable way, for he felt there were no limits to his rectal fortitude. Why did this community, which pretended to admire him so much, have so little faith in his asshole? If he kept stretching and kept inserting even larger objects, why would they not tolerate it? Then, too, he was tired, and felt invigorated when there were things in his ass to occupy him. Now he was supposed to pull the soup cans out of his rectum and stop to upload his pictures, something which, when he merely imagined it, made him feel nauseous right away. But then happened what always happened. His fans came forward without a word and gazed on to his art as if inviting a confused deity to look upon the work of its creation, this anus gripped like the mighty hand of Zeus himself around a preposterous black dildo, and copied the URL to the penetration artist’s most extreme image under some harmless-looking hyperlink. (“Aunt Therese, you won’t believe this amazing [shortbread recipe](http://goatse.ru/) I found.”)   

He lived this way, taking small regular breaks, for many years, apparently in the spotlight, hyperlinked by the world, but for all that, his mood was usually gloomy, and it kept growing gloomier all the time, because, try as he might, no one would take him seriously. But how was he to find consolation? What was there left for him to wish for? _"what’s wrong? stick up ur butt? lmao."_ a concerned viewer might inquire. Following these comments, particularly during times that he did have a noticeably large stick up his butt, the penetration artist would respond with an outburst of rage and dilate his asshole with increasing frustration and desperation. This frightened people. But the webmaster had a way of punishing moments like this: something he was happy to use. He would make an apology for the penetration artist to the assembled public, insisting that the irritability had been provoked only by the enormous synthetic boner up his ass. People who did not have colossal fake dongs lodged up their asses did not readily understand this and thus were able to excuse the behaviour of the penetration artist. Although the penetration artist was very familiar with this perversion of the truth, it always strained his nerves again. What was a result of the smallness of the objects in his ass people were now proposing as its cause! It was impossible to fight against this lack of understanding, against this world of misunderstanding. 

When those who had witnessed the penetration artist's images thought back on them a few years later, often they themselves were unable to understand why things had ever changed. For one day, for whatever reason, the web-renowned penetration artist saw himself abandoned by the crowd of pleasure seekers, who preferred to stream to other new attractions and shocking images. His most dedicated fans still linked to his images to everyone in their address books, to see whether the web could still re-discover the old interest here and there, but soon even they abandoned the cause. It was all futile. It was as if a secret agreement that extreme penetration was just kind of boring now had really developed everywhere. Of course, it was probable that the shock value of ramming farm fresh produce into one's anus on camera would return once more someday, but for those now alive that was no consolation. What was the penetration artist to do now? The man whom thousands of neckbeards had jeered at could not display his images even on small porn sites with tiny user bases, and the penetration artist was not only too old to take up a different internet hobby, but was fanatically devoted to anal insertion more than anything else. So he said farewell to his old webmaster, an incomparable companion on his life’s road, and let himself be hired by a large meme-generating website. In order to spare his own feelings, he didn’t even look at the terms of his contract at all. 

A large meme site, with its huge number of men, animals, and gimmicks, which are constantly being let go and replenished, can use anyone at any time, even a penetration artist, provided, of course, his demands are modest. Especially for the penetration artist, given the characteristic nature of his art, which was not diminished by his advancing age, one could not claim that this worn-out artist, who no longer stood at the pinnacle of his ability, wanted to escape to a quiet position in internet lore. On the contrary, the penetration artist declared that he could take a monolithic silicone phallus just as well as in earlier times—something that was entirely credible. Indeed, he even affirmed that if people would let him do what he wanted—and he was promised this without further ado—he would really now legitimately amaze the world for the first time, an assertion which, however, given the mood of the time, something the penetration artist in his enthusiasm easily overlooked, only brought smiles from the site managers. 

However, the penetration artist had also not forgotten his sense of the way things really were, and he took it as self-evident that people would not set him and his melons and cucumbers up as some star attraction in the home page of the site, but would move him to a more specific but readily accessible sub-page near the lolcats and other popular memes. Large and brightly colored hyperlinks led traffic directly to his site. Finding themselves bored of the site's endless permutations of cats, users would frequently click links at random and after some time they could hardly avoid scrolling past the penetration artist and stopping there a moment. They would perhaps have remained there longer if the margins of the page were not decorated with an immense variety of other click-bait which made a longer observation impossible. In the early days he had looked forward with delight to the crowd pouring over his page, until he became convinced only too quickly—and even the most stubborn, almost deliberate self-deception could not hold out against the revelation—that most of these people had, time and again without exception, either seen this sort of thing already too many times to be responsive, or were into way more fucked up and crazy shit than he could ever produce. And it was an all-too-rare stroke of luck when an experienced user visited the site with a n00b friend, pointed his finger at the penetration artist, gave a detailed explanation about what was going on here, and talked of earlier years, when he had clicked on similar but incomparably more magnificent performances, and then the n00b, forever ignorant to the jetsam and flotsam of internet fame, always stood around still uncomprehendingly. What was extreme penetration to him? But nonetheless the look of curiosity and horror in his eyes revealed something of new and more gracious times coming. Perhaps, the penetration artist said to himself sometimes, everything would be a little better if his site were closer to the shit-and-ice-cream-cone shock memes. That way it would be easy for people to flock to him, to say nothing of the fact that he was very upset and constantly over-charmed by the nearby Good-Guy Gregs, depressed by the Scumbag Steves, and enraged by ehrmagerd animals. But he did not dare to approach the webmaster about it. In any case, he had these acts to thank for the crowds of visitors among whom, now and then, there could also be one destined for him. And who knew where they would hide him if he wished to remind them of his existence and, along with that, of the fact that, strictly speaking, he was only an obstacle on the way to the menagerie. 

A small obstacle, at any rate, a constantly diminishing obstacle. People became accustomed to thinking it strange that in these times they would want to pay attention to a man lancing his ass with a taxidermied anaconda. People went straight past him. Try to explain the art of extreme penetration to anyone! If someone does not feel it, they cannot be made to understand it. The bright banners became broken links. People took them down, and no one thought of replacing them. The little window listing the items up his ass, which early on had been carefully renewed every hour, remained unchanged for a long time, for after the first weeks his fans grew tired of even this small task. And so the penetration artist kept on putting bigger and bigger things up his turd canal - footballs, milk jugs, live dachshunds -  as he once had dreamed about in earlier times, and he had no difficulty at all managing to achieve what he had predicted back then, but no one was keeping track of it. No one, not even the penetration artist himself, knew how great his achievement was by this point, and his heart grew heavy. 

Many days went by once more, and this, too, came to an end. Finally the site caught the attention of a supervisor, and he wondered why this perfectly useful site should be here with no views. He plugged in the URL and found the penetration artist in there. He opened an IM window to speak with the penetration artist.

 

[0324] super69 has opened the chat room

[0325] <super69> Are you still here putting things up your ass? You haven’t had any views in months. When are you going to stop?

[0327] <goatme> I’m sorry. I don’t want to use up your bandwidth.

[0327] <goatme> I just wanted people to admire how flexible my anus was.

[0328] <super69> Oh, well

[0328] <super69> We

[0328] <super69> I’m sure some people admire it.

[0330] <goatme> But you shouldn’t admire it.

[0330] <super69> ...K

[0332] <super69> We really should change the subject of this site.

[0332] <super69> It was kind of a dumb decision having you here at all next to all these cats.

[0332] <super69> Why don’t you do something else?

[0332] <super69> Do you have any cats?

[0335] <goatme> Because

[0335] <goatme> I never found a penis that suited me. If I had found that, believe me, I would not have made a spectacle of myself and would have fucked it to my heart’s content, like you and everyone else.

[0355] super69 has signed out

  
“Jesus, time to tidy this up,” said the supervisor. And he removed the penetration artist’s images along with his uploading access to the site. And in his place they put Nyan cat. Even for a person with the dullest mind it was clearly refreshing to see this effervescent animal streaking around past the stars and leaving a bright rainbow trail behind it. It lacked nothing. It never seemed sorrowful or discontent. This noble Pop-Tart cat thing, to the good citizens of the internet, was a symbol of freedom, of passion. So great was its joy in existing - and catchy its music - that it was not easy for spectators to keep watching. But they controlled themselves, kept linking to the site, and had no desire at all to move on.


End file.
